Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story

by Adam Nicholls

Hugh Sullivan took a deep breath, tapping his hands on his knees and staring blankly into space. The activity in his brain could be seen through his eyes, and his lip curled with discomfort as he recalled the disturbing memory. ‘I was sweeping up in a classroom,’ he said. ‘Minding my own business, I was – whistling some of my favourite songs. You like Elvis, detective?’

  Mason nodded.

  ‘Anyhow, someone came running in behind me. Scared the living shit out of me, to tell the truth. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, “Help! My girlfriend is having a fit!”’ Sullivan waved his hands, telling the story with morbid enthusiasm.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Well, being a goddamn human being, I followed him down the hall. He pointed me into the ladies’ bathroom. I thought it was odd that he had been in there. I mean, he must have been, right? How else would he have known she was having a fit? I tried not to think about it when I ran inside. I just remember telling him to call an ambulance.

  ‘When I went into the bathroom, I checked the stalls and noticed that nobody was in there. But by the time I turned around, something was being swung at my head. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in my tighty-whities on a dirty floor.’

  As much as he wanted to hear this, Mason dreaded to think what could have happened. ‘You’re lucky he didn’t kill you. He has something of a knack for that kind of thing.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’ Sullivan slapped his hands on his knees, leaning on his arms. ‘Anyway, I’m sure that’s of little interest to you. I just thought I would call you in to let you know what I saw. It might prove useful to you.’

  It wasn’t exactly what Mason had expected. He’d thought that he might have been able to walk away from here with something he could use, but as good as it was to hear that the janitor was okay, his story had proven useless. ‘Thank you for sharing.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure,’ Sullivan said. ‘So, where do you want to do this?’

  ‘Do what?’ Mason asked, confused. The wind outside picked up, sending flutters of rain at the window.

  ‘The sketch,’ he said. ‘I saw the killer. Don’t you want to see what he looks like?’

  18

  The rain had picked up by the time Mason left the security booth, but it wouldn’t dampen his mood. Having a sketch of the killer would prove incredibly useful in many ways, and considering their recent run of bad luck, it foreshadowed a huge turn of events.

  Drew Ackerman could finally become more useful, too. If Mason could put the sketch in front of him, maybe he could shed a little light on the man, maybe even why he’d gone on a murder spree to begin with.

  ‘Any luck?’ Bill asked, as Mason trudged toward him through the wet gravel.

  ‘A lot.’ Mason grinned. ‘Can you head inside and take care of Mr Sullivan? Just until Christian arrives.’

  ‘Christian?’ Bill’s face scrunched up. ‘You mean…’

  ‘Yeah, we need a sketch.’

  Bill patted him on the shoulder, squeezing a little too hard with excitement. ‘That’s great! That’s… Haha!’ He headed toward the security booth with a spring in his step, smiling genuinely for the first time in forever.

  But Mason’s own mood suddenly took a turn for the worse.

  As he pulled out his cell phone to make a call, he found himself having to sift through a number of text messages from Diane. Had his phone been on silent, or had be just been too involved in the case to notice?

  They all said the same kind of thing; Where are you? I’m waiting. Hurry up. Each of these left Mason thinking real hard about what she was talking about. After some thought, it suddenly struck him – he had missed their hospital appointment.

  Panicking now, he left the details with Bill and apologised profusely for having to leave. Mason hopped into his car and sped home at a dangerous speed. Stupid asshole! he thought, wrought with shame. As much as he hated to take an hour away from the case, he simply couldn’t ignore his own girlfriend when she needed him the most.

  When he arrived home, he searched all over the house until he found Diane in the bedroom. She rushed around the bed, dumping clothes into a suitcase. Her cheeks were flushing red and she refused to look Mason in the eye.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ he said, moving toward her.

  ‘No need to be,’ Diane said flatly, zipping up the case. ‘I’m going to stay with my mother until this special little case of yours is closed – if it’s ever closed.’ She pushed past him and left the room, struggling to haul the suitcase down the stairs.

  As much as it pained him to do so, Mason took the case and carried it down for her. He put it by the front door and lowered his voice to the most calm and soothing tone he could manage. ‘I messed up. I know that. But things have just been a bit crazy at work.’

  Diane shook her head. ‘You don’t get it, do you? It’s not just because I’m pregnant – it’s because I’m lonely. I don’t just need you around for the baby – I need you here for myself as well. I feel like I’m losing you.’ A tear streamed from her eye then, rolling down her cheek and dropping to the floor.

  ‘I…’ Mason held her face in one large hand, rubbing a fresh tear away with his thumb. ‘I’ll do better. I want to be here, I really do. Just let me finish this investigation.’

  For a moment, she seemed to be considering it. But when she heard the car drive through a puddle outside, and the driver lean on his horn, she groped for the handle of her suitcase and dragged it outside. ‘That will be my cab. Call me when you come to your senses.’

  Mason stood on the steps, staring at her retreating back, watching her hurry into the cab before it drove away. With her gone and Amy in New York, he felt utterly alone. But he had brought it on himself, and he knew it. He just couldn’t seem to find a way to please Diane. Not until this was over.

  Not until he stopped this son-of-a-bitch killer.

  19

  It was back to business as usual.

  Mason had a copy of the police sketch folded perfectly down the middle, concealed under his long, beige trench coat. With an absence of dignity, he marched up the steps of Drew Ackerman’s porch, rapped on the door and waited for an answer.

  It took some time, but Drew finally opened the door, his face half-hidden behind it.

  ‘Oh. I can’t help you today,’ he said.

  Mason recoiled. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Actually…’ Drew opened the door up wide, revealing his informal attire. ‘Everything is wrong. After seeing Lewis Greene like that, I just couldn’t sleep at all.’

  ‘It will get easier.’

  ‘No. No, I… Look, I know you mean well, and I really wish I could help you, but I’m just not cut out for this. I’m of no use to you at all, and I think we both know it. I would appreciate it if you’d just leave me alone.’

  His words rocked Mason’s system. The last thing he’d needed was another person to cut him off, to leave him out on his own to do the impossible. His entire career had been like this – one step forward and two steps back. God only knew where it would end.

  ‘Although it doesn’t seem like it,’ Mason told him, ‘you’re the only one who can do some good. Right now, it may seem hopeless, and I suppose a bit like you’re no good to the investigation, but something could change soon enough. I implore you to reconsider.’

  Drew’s eyes filled with regret. It wasn’t an expression of consideration, more of a clarification that he wanted no part of this. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  With no further words, he began to close the door. Mason shot out his foot, wedging it between the door and the frame. His instincts told him to play dirty, to tell him that it would be an obstruction of justice to leave now. Mason had every legal right to force him into giving more of an effort… but he had to draw the line on his humanity somewhere.

  ‘Please remove your foot,’ Drew said, turning his face away as if he were crying.

  ‘One last thing.’ Mason unfolded the sketch and held it toward him. ‘This is our killer.
Do you recognise him? It could be someone you’ve only met once, or somebody from long ago with a grudge. Anything would help.’

  Reluctant, Drew studied the picture, his eyes moving up and down with an expressionless scanning motion. ‘I’ve never seen him before. Now please, leave me alone. I’ll be in touch if anything crops up.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll help us?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  The door slammed shut then, and Mason was as alone as he felt. He padded down the steps and back into the night-time rain. Nothing but paperwork awaited him, and even more of it now that he had to explain why he had given Drew a pass. It wasn’t the end of the world, though – Mason needed something to fill the gaping hole in his life, and anything looked better than drinking himself to sleep.

  20

  The moment he closed the door, Drew Ackerman made his way into the kitchen, where he took a bottle of beer from the fridge and headed down into the basement.

  This whole ordeal was becoming far too much for him, playing with his morals like they were toys, messing with his emotions as if they hadn’t been noticed at all. Everything seemed to be happening around him, and where did the responsibility fall? Why, on him, of course.

  Drew landed off the bottom step and looked around the dimly lit room. A bright red glow came from the back of the room, similar to that of a photographic darkroom. Gentle opera music announced itself from speakers at either end of the basement, and the whole room stank of something rotten.

  ‘Ah. Back here,’ came a voice from somewhere in the jungle of cardboard boxes.

  With the beer in his hand, Drew walked to where his boyfriend sat, sewing up something that he didn’t dare look at. He set down the beer and leaned against the metal shelving. ‘That was the policeman.’

  George looked over the rims of his glasses, barely taking his eyes off his patchwork. It was a look that had given Drew the creeps on many occasions, and it wasn’t getting any easier to live with.

  ‘They’re closing in on us, you know.’

  George continued sewing in silence.

  ‘Don’t you care?’ Drew said. Anger built up inside him, but he wouldn’t dare scream too loud. He knew his place. ‘They have a sketch of you, after your little stunt with the janitor. I’ve just told Detective Black that I don’t want any part of it.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘Well, I think he talked me out of that.’

  At long last, George set down his sewing project. ‘So, you’re still working with him?’

  ‘I guess.’

  George looked down, nodding slowly, thoughtfully. ‘Good. If this detective becomes too much of a problem, we’ll just have to deal with him. For now, I want you to keep by his side, giving him little nuggets of truth when he needs it. Just point him in the right direction.’

  There it was again; a part of the plan that put even more pressure on Drew. But who was he to argue? He had been a part of this since the very beginning. If he turned his back on George now, he would wind up in prison, or dead.

  ‘Come on,’ George said, handing over a pair of blood-stained rubber gloves. Drew had worn these one too many times before. ‘We have work to do.’

  21

  Finding another body put his promising weekend into a tailspin.

  The worker of a scrapyard had stumbled upon it, and he had called it in immediately. Mason, who’d had his ear to the ground for any news, pulled up outside Drew Ackerman’s place and leaned on his horn, wondering if he would even show.

  Much to his relief, Drew emerged from his house and rushed toward the car, zipping up his jacket as reddish leaves danced around his feet. ‘What is it?’ he asked, climbing in and hooking up the seatbelt.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Ten minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the scrapyard. Mason stopped the car by the security fence and went inside, where a short, bald man sat with his legs up on a cheap, gunmetal desk. He had a tattoo on his cheek, but Mason couldn’t tell what it depicted – it was too small and messy, as if it had been done in prison. ‘I’m looking for David Hathaway.’

  The man looked up from his magazine. ‘Right. Detective…?’

  ‘Black. Homicide. Can you show me what you found?’

  Hathaway led them through the scrapyard, where corridors of discarded metal rose high over their heads. Scrapped cars blocked the sun, and filthy brown puddles soaked their boots.

  It took five minutes to reach the abandoned Volvo. The untarnished silver paint spoke volumes, leaving the entire vehicle looking like new. But it wasn’t until they got closer that Mason saw the bloodied corpse in the back seat.

  ‘Hope Mariano,’ Drew said, wrapping his arms around his chest.

  Mason glanced over, watching him shake his head in disgust. He knew what it meant – it was the name of the victim in the novel. Pulling a pair of gloves from his pocket and equipping them, Mason opened the car door, speaking over his shoulder to the scrapyard worker. ‘Did you see anything?’

  ‘Nothing. I just found the car here and called you guys straight away.’

  The body stank of burned hair and foul waste. She was laid on her front, her top half completely naked. A bloody patch stained her back, where a large chunk of flesh had been cut from her. Crisp autumn leaves nested in her dark hair. Mason leaned in, carefully lifting up her chin.

  ‘This is not right,’ Drew mumbled from outside.

  You’re telling me. The woman was young – no older than twenty-five, and this was no way to die. Mason found himself thinking of his own daughter, Amy. If anybody had tried something like this with her, he’d cut their nuts off and shove them in their mouth.

  Mason climbed out of the car, careful not to displace evidence, should Forensics kick up a stink about it. He closed the door and left everything how it had been when they’d found it.

  ‘It’s not right,’ Drew said again.

  ‘Go and take a minute,’ Mason told him.

  ‘No, you don’t understand.’ Drew reached up, raking his fingers through his messy hair. ‘This is all wrong. There’s a kill missing.’

  Mason felt his knees weaken, air leaving his gut.

  ‘The killer has skipped over someone.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  Mason excused himself from the scrapyard worker, who took off into the distance and said he would be there if needed. Alone now, Mason took Drew’s shoulders and looked calmly into his eyes. ‘You need to be one-hundred percent certain.’

  Drew pulled away and turned his back on him. ‘I am.’

  Mason’s head felt ready to explode. As his thoughts raced around, he realised that this didn’t necessarily mean the killer had taken his victims in the wrong order. It was a possibility that they just hadn’t found the other body yet. Either way, more people were going to die, and Mason had no idea how to stop it.

  22

  Mason sat on the hood of his Mustang, chowing down a Big Mac while staring aimlessly at the ground. In his deepest, darkest thoughts, he would have his hands squeezing tightly around the neck of the killer. But he had been there before – he knew that it was a long road back. In spite of that, the temptation lingered.

  ‘How can you eat at a time like this?’ Drew stepped away from the wall that overlooked the San Francisco bay. Although a storm brewed on the horizon, a beautiful ray of light shone an orange glow down on the city. It was like God himself touched it.

  ‘You get used to it after some time.’ Mason reached into his trench coat and pulled out a notepad. ‘Here.’

  ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘I want you to list the names of every victim in the Buried series.’

  ‘How would that help?’

  Mason scrunched up the McDonald’s wrapper and threw it into a nearby bin. It bounced back and hit the floor, but the wind soon carried it away. ‘The killer is taking real-life victims using the books as a guide, right?’

  ‘Right.’ />
  ‘So, it might be a good idea for us to get there first.’

  Drew stared back at him for a moment, then pulled the pen from the ring binder and paced around with his head down and his writing hand working away. A few minutes passed and he came back with two double-sided sheets of names.

  ‘Thanks.’ Mason headed back to the car door.

  ‘Some of those are going to have multiple people with the same name.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That could be hundreds,’ Drew moaned, returning to the car. He gazed over the top of the roof at Mason, his face screwed up with distress.

  ‘Then we’ll visit hundreds.’

  They climbed into the car. Mason clipped in his seatbelt and brought the engine to life with a delicious purr. But before he set it into reverse, he turned toward Drew. ‘You’re doing the right thing, you know. It might be hard to swallow, but at the end of it all, you’re saving lives. We need you, pal.’

  Drew sulked back into silence, staring straight ahead.

  ‘Now buckle up,’ Mason said. ‘We’ve a long day ahead of us.’

  23

  By the time night fell, setting a cold chill into the autumn breeze, they arrived at Drew’s house with no results. None of the victims had seen anything suspicious, and not a single one of them had reacted well to being told that they might die soon. Go figure.

  Drew unclipped his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, feeling the tight knots in his back where he had been tensing throughout the interviews. He was sure that one of those soon-to-be victims would have given him away somehow. Thankfully, no such thing had happened.

  ‘You going to be okay?’ Mason asked, leaning over to get a full read on his expression.

  ‘I just need some time,’ Drew said. It was his best performance yet. ‘The whole idea that there’s a killer out there… Crazy, huh?’

  ‘We can always have an officer keep watch on your house.’

  Panic. ‘No, it’s okay. I guess if I was in danger, I’d be dead by now. I’ll see you soon.’ Drew turned and took the steps slowly, allowing Mason Black enough time to drive out of sight. When the coast was clear, he stalked around to the side of his house.